Mycroft
by Poppy67
Summary: Mycroft & Sherlock through the years


Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in his Sherlock Holmes series of books and the BBC television Series Sherlock. I in no way claim to own these characters.

A Pledge

Mycroft knew what life under Mummy and Daddy Holmes was like for 7 years…he would have loved to dislike the new baby but standing outside the glass in the delivery ward staring at his new little brother, he could do nothing but silently cry. His Aunt whispered rather loudly that he was possibly jealous, but his father scoffed at that immediately. He leaned down and whispered in Mycroft's ear that he knew the truth about his tears and remarked to his sister that they weren't tears of jealousy but of happiness that finally Mummy produced a spare for the heir and that Mycroft wouldn't be on his own any longer.

"Eh, what Mycroft, I am right aren't I?"

Mycroft didn't respond as he was gazing at his little brother, his own little baby boy Sherlock. Lionel gave him a light squeeze on his bony shoulder and led Mycroft's Aunt Anne, away down the hall and out of the maternity ward. Mycroft was already lost in his thoughts before the doors shut behind them.

Earlier that morning, his mother had determinedly shook him awake from his sleep and announced that she was going to have the baby. In her strong and clear voice, she told him that if he wanted to attend, he should get dressed and be at the front of the house in 30 minutes. She was still in her night-gown and robe as she turned from his bed on her way to her maid Sharla's room. Mycroft was ready in less than 5 minutes and was sitting with the little suitcase outside the front door when his father Lionel came stumbling out of the car and made his way up the walk-way. It was 4am.

Lionel was, to say the least, a bit taken aback when he realized through bleary eyes that the non-descript lump by the door was actually his son, sitting on the top step with a suitcase on his lap. Mycroft did not run to greet his father, nor did he immediately launch into the exciting news that his mother was due to give birth. He sat on the stair and watched as his father fumbled with the keys, kicked the side of the car door for no apparent reason, and giggle at nothing in particular. His father, Mycroft knew, was drunk.

"Finally running away are we?"

"Are we?" Mycroft promptly responded.

Lionel wouldn't own up to being any more than tipsy, but if anyone else had spent the afternoon and all the evening doing the things he'd done and drinking as much as he'd drunk, they'd be flat out in the emergency room. Thankfully, Lionel was from strong stock. Both Mycroft's father and mother Deirdra were very strong and weak people, in their own ways.

"Well, Lionel said as he flopped down next to his son, the suitcase is a rather give-away, wouldn't you say?"

"I wouldn't say that, no."

"Then my boy, Lionel said as he ruffled Mycroft's hair, what would you say?"

Mycroft didn't move away from his father's presence or touch. He loved his father, but even at the age of five, he was a more serious person than his father would ever be, or so he was often told by his mother and aunts, had ever been.

"You're drunk."

"A bit, yes, but I'm used to being out of the house at 4 in the morning. What's your excuse?"

Mycroft allowed a small smile to part his lips. He couldn't give his father more than that as he'd have him laughing and then they'd both be in trouble when Mummy came down and caught them.

Mycroft turned his head away from his father and watched as his Aunt Anne's chauffeured car made its way up the drive. "Other than running away, what other reason do you, Mycroft emphasized, think I would be outside of the house at 4am sitting with a suitcase, father?"

"Well this really sobers me up to think you've been thrown out. What possible mischief could you…?"

Mycroft refused to laugh at his father's antics and interrupted seriously, "I haven't been thrown out of the house father…"

"No no, quite right….Lionel smiled as he reclined on the landing slowly ticking off the possible reasons for finding his son out of the house at the same time as himself, not running away, not been thrown out, not drunk…"

"I don't drink." Mycroft said in a small scandalized voice.

Lionel popped up very energetically and continued his absurd questioning, "What about eloping? Is there a young miss hiding behind the hedges? Have you gone and gotten some poor lass knocked up Master Mycroft?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and rested his head in both his hands. He could now see his father wasn't as drunk as he'd first thought as he was rapidly sobering up. Truthfully, it was hard for some to tell when he was drunk and when he was sober. Lionel was playful and silly nearly all the time. He was extremely tall and handsome, and was considered to be a very good catch for any debutante in his day. A good catch, until their father's discovered that while he had money, looks, and charisma, he didn't have a lick of business sense.

Mycroft's Aunt Beatrice once exclaimed at the dinner table that she could always tell when her brother was drunk because he was 10 times more incorrigible. Lionel laughed and heartily agreed while Mycroft noticed that his mother Deirdra's mouth visibly tightened as she frowned down at her plate. Deirdra was not playful or silly.

Lionel was the youngest of four children, the only male in a house full of women. His mother and sisters raised him after his father died. Aunts Anne and Beatrice lived with one another up the road from their house and Aunt Ethel and her husband Damien made their home in Manchester. They all spoiled him, just as they tried to do with Mycroft, when his mother wasn't looking.

Anne was the serious one. She was the one raised to handle the Holmes fortune. She never got married as her mother was always afraid of gold-diggers. At 52 years old, her mother had a late child, who turned out to be a boy. Three months later Mr. Holmes the senior died of a heart attack, and Anne, the once heir was then in charge of the family, its fortune, and the baby who usurped her place in the hierarchy.

"No father, I've not gone and gotten a girl knocked up." said Mycroft as he couldn't resist peeking over to the hedges.

"Knocked up was one of his father's new favorite phrases Mycroft learned.

Dierdra had been very ill for going on two months. Mycroft began to worry as he wasn't allowed to see her for days at a time. His mother preferred to be sick alone, so she shut everyone out of her room except Sharla and Aunt Anne. Mycroft had done some research as regards to his mum's symptoms, but Sharla simply refused to confirm that his mum was indeed only pregnant and not terminally ill with some horrible cancer. She, for whatever reason, thought that he was too young to understand what was happening. One day, Mycroft took out his frustration on her and screamed, "I'm not a baby, you clot, I'm seven years old!"

When Sharla came to get him and take him to his parents in the library, he was all prepared to defend calling her a clot and other words he thought she couldn't hear. Finally though, his mother now felt that it was time for him to be told the news, and so he was ushered into the dim room and sat down in his father's chair. His father was standing by the fire-place with a glass of something amber colored, his mother was in her night clothes, wrapped in a blanket, sitting in the chair across from his, and his Aunts Anne and Beatrice were standing behind her, one holding a towel and the other a pail in case Dierdra was sick.

Just as his mother was opening her mouth to say something, his father interrupted and said jovially, "Well lad, I've gone and gotten your mum knocked up."

Mycroft began to laugh with his father as he'd just learned this phrase not a week before. He'd heard his father speaking to Sharla and complaining that Deirdra was only knocked up and he wished she would drop the martyr act. Sharla, told his father to behave and to make himself useful as she stalked up the hallway with a basket full of linen. Mycroft raced to the library, went to the desk and opened the dictionary and searched for the words knocked up and martyr. He had no clue how to spell martyr but found the phrase knocked up immediately. As the American slang fit more with his prior research on his mother's symptoms, Mycroft preferred it to the British meaning. She was exhausted, he agreed, but that was because she was pregnant. Later he asked his Aunt Beatrice how to spell the word martyr and regardless of the crudeness of the language in both instances Mycroft found that his father was as ever, correct.

"Hmmm, Lionel's questioning once again interrupted Mycroft's thoughts, so, you've not gotten a girl knocked up and she's not hiding waiting to elope with you…well, my dear little one, the only thing left is to assure you that I've not wasted all the family fortune on drink and other activities, so there's no need for you to be out here waiting on transportation to what I can only assume is a secret night job at the coal yards…"

"Father…!" Mycroft said exasperatedly. He hated that he had to be mature at this time, because he really did want to laugh.

Just then his Aunt Anne arrived at the stairs. Beatrice was in the car waving at Mycroft, and his mother and Sharla were both exiting the house.

"Glad to see you've made it home Lionel." Anne was not happy with her brother, but she knew if she'd let Beatrice out of the car they'd both be laughing and causing Deirdra to be more vexed than she already was.

"Just in time, I see…"

"We've been calling your club for hours."

"Have you…?" Mycroft could hear his father's voice change suddenly from lightness to hardness even-though his face appeared as if he hadn't a care in the world. His Aunt Anne could hear the change as well. He'd only heard his father speak like this a few times and both were when he was rowing with his mother. Mycroft would one day perfect this vocal change as well. It was at this time that most people who thought he was drunk would be made fools of. His father was playful and silly until he suddenly wasn't. Anne finished ushering Deirdra and Sharla into the car with Beatrice. She instructed her driver to take Lionel's keys and escort him and Mycroft to the hospital while she drove his mother in hers.

Sharla finally came to the viewing room and dressed Mycroft in a little hospital gown. Sherlock had been taken to his mother's room and he was going to finally get to hold him.

"Finally lad, where have you been? Little Sherlock's been looking for you." Lionel ushered Mycroft into a chair, instructed him on the proper way to hold a baby, and gently placed the curly haired bundle in his arms.

Mycroft looked down into the bluest eyes, aside from his mother's that he'd ever seen. Sherlock had been crying, but as soon as he heard Mycroft cooing at him and saying hello, he stopped. One would have thought Sherlock saw an angel the way he would not stop staring at his big brother. Mycroft took after his father's side of the family in looks, if not personality. His mother was the one with coal black hair while his father was a curly ginger. Mycroft had the ginger but not the curls. Mycroft sat holding the baby for the rest of the morning.

Around 10am, Lionel roused himself from the chair he was dozing in and announced that he was beat and was going home for some sleep and a bath. Beatrice had fallen asleep in the spare bed, and Anne was sitting listening to Deirdra talk about her brother's appalling behavior. Sherlock had finally closed his eyes and Mycroft felt as if he would like to go to bed as well, but he refused to give the baby to Sharla or even the nurse.

"Father told me to keep him."

Deirdra looked up from her bed and said, "He's hungry Mycroft, give him to the nurse, so she can go and feed him."

"No, I will feed him."

Sharla hoped to head off a little row between mother and son, so she spoke up…"You're just a baby yourself. Give the little lamb to me, and I will feed him."

"I'm not a baby. He's mine, and I will feed him."

"That's right my boy. Sherlock is your baby brother; don't let these old hags steal him away from you."

"Lionel, Deirdra raised her voice sternly, you're not helping."

"You're right dear, best be on my way then."

Lionel kissed Mycroft and the baby on their cheeks and sent an air kiss in the direction of Deirdra, Anne, and the still sleeping Beatrice. He winked at Mycroft and began whistling as he gathered up his coat and sauntered out the door.

Mycroft looked back down at the baby and whispered to himself, "You're my baby now.…"

Deirda was an only child. Both her parents passed away when she was young. She and Lionel fell madly in love after they met at a party and within months they had married. She thought that she would stay in love forever. Plucked from a secretarial school to become the wife of the wealthy and handsome Lionel Mycroft Aloyious Holmes, Deirdra couldn't believe her good fortune. Lionel was 10 years older than her, but because of his joie de vivre, he seemed the same if not only a year older. They were 20 and 30 years old respectfully when Mycroft was born. His sisters welcomed her with open arms into the family. Anne was 55, Beatrice was 49 and Ethel was 45.

As Mycroft allowed the nurse to show him how to clean and change Sherlock's nappie, he had to concede that this would be one job he would gladly let his mummy and Sharla take over. Beatrice had a huge laugh when she caught his expression. Strangely as beautiful as Sherlock was, his nappy was not filled with gold coins. Once the baby was taken from him, he finally replaced his Aunt in the second bed and fell asleep exhausted.

Due to Dierdra's upbringing, being raised in foster homes, she was not as surprised when she didn't display any maternal leanings. While she loved her son Mycroft and would love this new baby as well, she never could produce the intimacy other young mothers found so easily accessible. If she were honest, Mycroft grew up a bit lonely and isolated. His Aunts and his father were loving influences, but he and Deirdra had an older sister and younger brother vibe going on even-though he was now seven years old and she was 27. If he wanted to take care of the baby, and call Sherlock his own, she'd let him and Lionel wouldn't object. Mycroft was a very mature seven year old boy. Mycroft had been a very mature three year old as that was the time his parents and aunts realized he wasn't like any of the other little children.

"Oh how the time has flown, Beatrice announced to no one in particular, hard to believe sometimes that it's been eight years since Anne was just holding Sherlock as a baby."

Watching Sherlock from the upstairs window as he ran and played alone in the back-garden, Deirdra wondered for the umpteenth time when Mycroft would be arriving.

"Sit down Dierdra, you're making us all nervous. Mycroft's car should be arriving in about 20 minutes." Lionel gave a tight smile to his sisters Beatrice and Ethel and handed his brother-in law Damien a scotch.

"My God, Beatrice said, we're all on pins and needles Lionel; it's no point in taking you're sadness out on Dierdra. Come sit down beside me."

Lionel didn't respond even as he took his older sister's hand and sat, as she'd requested, on the sofa beside her. Anne's sudden death had hit each of them hard, but most especially Beatrice as she was the one who discovered her sister's body. They'd been living together for more than 20 years. After the coroner had removed Anne from the bedroom; Beatrice had stopped speaking completely for two days. The funeral was to take place in a day and they'd still not told Sherlock that his favorite Aunt had died. That job was Mycroft's.

Unbeknownst to the adults in the house, Mycroft had snuck onto the property and was watching his brother run around the garden in his pirate costume. Aunt Anne may have looked like their grand-mother, but she raised every-one of them except their Uncle Damien and no one appreciated her or loved her more than Sherlock. She was the only one who could calm him down two years ago when at the age of 13, Mycroft left home for London and Eton. Mummy and Pa promised him the sun, the moon and the stars if he would calm down and say good bye to his brother. He refused. He was in the process of setting his bedroom as well as the entire house on fire just as Aunt Anne returned from the train station. She went directly to his room, knocked once, entered and held him while he cried all night. He was convinced that his big brother had left him.

When Sherlock was taught his brother's name all he could say at first was, My…My…My. Just as Mycroft had been possessive of him, he in turn was very possessive of his Mycroft, and aside from his brother the only person he would ever listen to about any subject was his Aunt Anne.

Mycroft decided to go to the other side of the garden and call for his brother so that he could give him a nice surprise before he had to give him the bad and upsetting news.

"Sherlock…" Mycroft called. "Oh, Sherrrrlock…"

Sherlock dropped his sword and went running in the direction of his name. Mycroft was home and no one thought to tell him.

"Mycroft..!" Sherlock jumped in his big brother's arms. At 15, Mycroft had grown as tall as their Mummy. Despite his love of sweets, he was not only tall but rail thin. He swung his little brother around as they said their hellos.

Two years ago when Mycroft first left to board at Eton, Sherlock refused to tell him good-bye and decided that he would never speak to Mycroft again. As the Christmas holidays rolled around that first year, Sherlock missed his Mycroft so much that he'd made himself ill. When Mycroft peeked his head around the door of his room, Sherlock jumped out of his bed, grabbed his crouching brother, and cried heartily on his shoulder. Mycroft didn't leave his side for hours afterward. Sherlock lamented to him that aside from his Aunt Anne, there wasn't anyone of intelligence in the house to speak too. Pa and Aunt Beatrice were both good for a tickle, certainly much better than mummy, but no one compared to Mycroft in Sherlock's eyes.

Back in the garden as Mycroft was swinging his brother around and around, Sherlock screamed, "Mycroft, you surprised me!"

"Yes, I did. Now how did I do that? As a fearsome pirate, you're supposed to always be on the look out for enemies."

"I was looking out but every-time I came even close to the house, I'd spy Mummy, Pa, Auntie Beatrice and Ethel looking at me from the window. I think they want to tell me Auntie Anne isn't coming back, but they don't how. But, now, I understand, they've sent you and you're going to tell me."

Mycroft laughed and gave his brother a tight hug. "Yes, Sherlock, I'm here to speak with you, but it seems that you already know. How did you find out?"

"I didn't find out. The last time Auntie Anne was visiting she told me that she hadn't been feeling well. She told me that she thought she might die."

"She… what…?"

"She asked me to be strong for the family and to not throw a tantrum. She wanted me to say a prayer for her and to not tell anyone until they said something to me. She said it had been a very long time since she had seen her mummy and father and that she was finally going to live with them again. I asked Pa if he had anything to tell me last night and he said only that he loved me."

Mycroft sat down on the ground crossed legged with his brother and told him, "Aunt Anne died on Sunday. She had a heart attack in her bed and she's gone to be with her parents."

"It's Wednesday; do you think they will be upset that I didn't tell them what Auntie Anne told me?"

"Oh no poppet, they won't be mad at all. Why don't we go into the house and you can tell them what you've just told me."

As soon as Sherlock began recounting his last conversation with Anne, her sisters and brother all began to cry. Mycroft encouraged Sherlock to give them each a hug and he reassured him that despite their tears, they were actually all very happy to hear this news. The funeral service went off with no interruptions and Mycroft was able to make the earliest train back to London so he could begin his exams.

Mycroft thought back to the time when he'd had to go home and tell his brother about his Aunt's passing, he was not looking forward to this trip as regards to their father. Sherlock was 16 years old now, and should be able to accept this news, but their Mummy screwed it all up by withholding the news from Mycroft as well.

Mycroft had been recruited by the government straight from the halls of St. Antony's college Oxford. He'd been a government employee for the last three years. His father Lionel had been to visit him at the beginning of the month, and was due to make the trip down to Oxford to stay a few weeks with Sherlock in his dorm rooms.

Mycroft was going to miss Lionel. Despite all the anger and rows he and their Mum had, Lionel was always there for his sons. Lionel more than anyone in the family, understood Sherlock's genius mind. Mycroft was easier, more clear cut, but Sherlock on the other hand could be easily hurt by the barbs his lesser class-mates threw in his direction. Both brothers, as everyone knew they would, were scored in the genius range.

Mycroft found Sherlock in the Chemistry lab. He told himself that he should have come here straight-away but had gone to his dorm room instead. By the time he did reach the lab, Sherlock was alone. Sherlock was going through that inevitable teenage phase, lots of eye-rolling, sarcastic humor, and no more brotherly hugs. Mycroft hadn't had the luxury of going through that phase as he had his little brother to practically raise since he himself was seven years old. He wouldn't expect a hug from Sherlock, but at least with there being no one to see, his baby brother surely wouldn't object to a hand-shake and quick squeeze.

By way of greeting, Mycroft said, "Sherlock, with the way you're holding that pipette, I'm surprised you don't ruin your experiment."

Sherlock looked up quickly, his heart began racing, and he was just about to break into a wide grin before he remembered that he was a teenager now and wasn't supposed to show his brother or any of his family members any possible outward signs of affection. Despite the fact that he was indeed very happy to see his brother, Sherlock refused to stand up and only set his pipette down to shake Mycroft's hand once his older brother had made his way over to him and his testing.

"How are you brother dear?"

"I'm fine Mycroft. What brings you here?"

"Bad news I'm afraid…"

Sherlock got up quickly and began pacing. Is it Auntie Beatrice? Has she had a heart attack? Has she fallen down the stairs? I told her the last time I was home that it wasn't safe to race me down the stairs. I told her she mustn't slide down the banister or she would hurt herself…"

"Sherlock…"

"She's just so hard-headed you know?"

"Sherlock, it's not…"

"I mean, she's 65 years old Mycroft. Why would she keep acting like a child? I told her that I'm the child and that she shouldn't try and beat me down the stairs. We did have fun, but she's just too old for that sort of th…"

Mycroft grabbed Sherlock by the arm and made him stop.

"Sit down."

As he always did when he was agitated, he listened to Mycroft and he would begin to chew his nails.

As he always did, Mycroft removed Sherlock's hand from his mouth and held on to it so that he wouldn't chew his nails to the quick.

"This news is not about Auntie B, it's about Father…"

Sherlock tried to jump up again. His entire body tensed up and he wanted to cry even before he heard the news. He knew what Mycroft was going to say, and he knew that it would destroy him. Mycroft exerted pressure on his hand and shoulder and refused to let Sherlock get up.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this news my lamb, but our dear Father has died."

Sherlock's sparkling blue eyes were immediately awash with tears. Mycroft pulled him into a very tight hug and recounted the rest of the story.

"Last week Pa decided to join some friends in Switzerland for a skiing trip…"

"He was to come and stay with me next week." Sherlock cried in his brother's chest.

"I know he'd already made the arrangements with the school. This skiing trip was a very spur of the moment decision. His friends recounted to Mummy that he and Roger, one of his friends from the party, had stayed out too late, and in the darkness they couldn't find their way out of the snow."

Mycroft had expected Sherlock to throw a tantrum, destroy the lab, but he found himself being gathered much tighter around his middle. To Sherlock the news would have only been more horrifying and devastating if it had involved Mycroft.

"I've already spoken with the school and packed some items from your dorm. We can leave for home right away."

Sherlock shook his head up and down and cried for another five minutes.

"I'll have to be strong for Auntie B and Ethel won't I?"

"Yes, Sherlock, if you can manage, but I'd imagine that they are thinking the same thing about you. If you want to cry with them, believe me that is perfectly acceptable and probably would be even more appreciated."

"What about you? Will you cry?"

Mycroft lifted Sherlock's face up from his chest and told him, "I've cried since the moment Mummy told me the news. We've been so privileged to have had the most irresponsible, silly, playful, best Father than anyone in the whole wide world, and I'm seriously going to miss him."

The brother's Holmes held one another for a few minutes more before they exited the lab and entered the waiting black chauffeured BMW.

"Anthea, I've got a job for you."

"Oh great Phil, Anthea spoke to the driver, we've got to pick up someone who's been paling around with Mr. Holmes' brother."

Anthea quickly sent a text response to her boss Mycroft Holmes; she loved his jobs as they usually consisted of following his brother Sherlock on his nightly expeditions and at the end of the year, being rewarded with two weeks of an all expenses paid vacation.

On their way to Brixton, she relayed to Phil, as he was a new driver, some of the goings on with Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes.

"A few years ago, Mr. Holmes' brother Sherlock was in a very bad situation. I don't know all the details as it has priority level secrecy, but it involved Sherlock being placed in rehab for cocaine or heroin addiction."

"Very bad business that…"

"Yeah, Mr. Holmes' man at Scotland Yard located him strung out with some homeless and got him to the hospital."

"I would have never guessed Mr. Holmes would have that sort in his family."

"Funny thing is, he's some sort of genius, and he only took the drug as an experiment."

"Experiment, Phil exclaimed, likely story I suppose…"

"No, not so likely, it's just the way he is…He's got to experience things bad or good before he will believe it. Trouble was, he found that he was human like the rest of us and became addicted. He's been clean for about three years; I think he's 33 or 34 years old now. I've never had a conversation with him, but he seems a nice enough bloke."

"Well, thank heavens for small favors if nothing else." Phil said as he pulled to the curb and jumped out to open the door for their guest.

Anthea sent a text, "Where to boss?"

Arriving at the warehouse, Anthea was happy to at least know Sherlock wasn't hanging out with some low life. This guy looked ex-military, clean-cut, a fighter, not a bad sort at all for his brother. People, as Anthea always knew, underestimated her boss. Phil the new driver probably thought he was a push over, but Anthea knew that couldn't be farther from the truth.

She watched from the back seat of the car as her boss spoke to this new guy. Mr. Holmes looked like a gentle mathematics professor with his three-piece suit and umbrella. He could size someone up in a matter of moments. She expected that's what he was doing with this fellow now. As Mr. Holmes began walking away, she didn't miss the signal of his twirling umbrella, which meant that this guy was to be taken safely home or wherever he desired to be dropped off. If the conversation hadn't gone so well, Anthea would have received a text telling her that she was off duty and to go on home.

"I'm to take you home now." Anthea said to their new friend John. She was happy Mr. Holmes approved. The last bloke they picked up was beaten by some of Mr. Holmes people, and was dropped off as far away from a hospital, or help of any kind, as he could imagine. Mr. Holmes approved of Dr. John Watson for now, but she wouldn't be surprised if he asked her to up his brother Sherlock's surveillance and to include Mr. Watson with him.

Her boss loved his brother, Anthea knew that much, he was protective, loving, and above all suspicious. He'd told her the first time they picked up Sherlock that he'd made a pledge to him-self when his brother was born, to never let any harm come to him. It seemed to Anthea that Sherlock was making Mycroft reconfirm that pledge on a sometimes daily basis with some of the antics he pulled, but regardless of the situation, Mr. Holmes always took care of his brother no matter what.

He'd let Dr. Watson and Sherlock play together as long as Sherlock was happy, and she knew he wouldn't hesitate to get rid of Dr. Watson as soon as it became clear to him if his brother wasn't..."

Anthea hoped for Dr. Watson's sake that Sherlock remained happy.

The End

Note: I love Mycroft. The transitions between ages are not as smooth as I'd like but it will have to do :-) I love Anthea and as she spoke so little in the car I thought I would make her a bit more chatty. I love the phrase, "I'm to take you home now." so I( lovingly) stole it direct. Eyes glued to her phone Anthea couldn't appear more bored. :-D Thanks to anyone who has taken the time to read this story 3


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